


Non-Euclidean Time and Other Such Oddities

by AnimeMonster



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: I Tried, M/M, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), POV challenged, Well - Freeform, more like, philosophic ramblings, the abandoned mine shaft outside of town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimeMonster/pseuds/AnimeMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts out with the meaning of time in Night Vale and ends with a trip to the Night Vale DMV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Euclidean Time and Other Such Oddities

**Author's Note:**

> What even is this fandom doing to my brain. My first WTNV fanfic and my first one here on AO3, though not my first in totality. I have a tumblr at prukempire.tumblr.com where I reblog weather stuff and sometimes WTNV fan art.

Cecil’s show ran for about thirty minutes, as best as Carlos could tell. Those thirty minutes was split up into short slices throughout the day, but never seemed to be split up at all. You could turn on your radio at any time and hear Cecil’s voice, though you technically had better odds turning on the radio to “a three hour special of Nails on Chalkboards!” It had bothered Carlos when he first came to Night Vale. A lot of things bothered Carlos then. And then he almost died and things stopped bothering him as much.

It didn’t bother him when he was sitting on the couch with Cecil leaning up against him hearing Cecil broadcast something live on air. He just wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and let the fact that time held no meaning as he was used to wash over him.

Time not following the standard linear flow wasn’t the strangest thing Night Vale had to offer. In fact, it was pretty much par for the course. Of course, being a scientist, who had been taught the importance of precise measurements, the time situation had been the cause of several mental break downs. A year’s worth of mental breakdowns, later, and Carlos was like a new man. He knew if he went back in time to that day he first entered Night Vale there would be mutual dissonance between current him and past him.

Once he got over the time situation it was easy to accept that Cecil was in love with him, and not just a school boy with a crush (though, admittedly, Cecil’s behavior reminded him of a school girl more than a school boy). Once he got over the time situation it was easy to fall into the natural rhythm of Night Vale whose time line probably resembled an infinite-dimensional Ouroboros in a pattern of a very complex Celtic knot. Once he got over the time situation he understood that the lights above the Arby’s really were the future, and the past as well, and the present. The lights were everything and he could understand them with Cecil’s head on his shoulder, his hand on Cecil’s knee, and Cecil’s voice coming out of the car speaker saying exactly that.

Since he no longer worried about the incomprehensibility of time in Night Vale, Carlos was now worrying about more mundane things, like, finally getting a new driver’s licenses. Which is why he was now standing in front of a rather board looking civil servant, who was actually one of the prisoners the Sheriff’s Secret Police was keeping in the abandoned mine shaft outside of town (she wore a rather cartoonish ball and chain around one ankle and a black-and-white striped jumpsuit as if it was high fashion).

“What do you mean that’s how I’m registered?” Carlos asked, through gritted teeth. He actually wouldn’t have been here if the Sheriff’s Secret Police had not left a reminder in his Rice Chex (completely free of wheat and wheat-by-products) this morning stating he had to get his license renewed.

The problem with that reminder is it had been addressed to Carlos the Scientist, as if that was his name. He now couldn’t remember what his original surname was, and wondered, briefly, if he had been re-educated at some point or if it was something else about Night Vale. His diplomas and certificates all read Carlos the Scientist on them, too. Even his out-of-state driver’s license that was expiring later this month read “SCIENTIST, CARLOS THE” on it.

It was actually, “You know, that’s kinda insulting,” Carlos said.

“Why’s that?” the woman said, blowing a bubble with the gum she was chewing.

“I’m Latin American, my whole family line is Latin American, after the few ancestors that came from Spain and Portugal, I don’t know, ‘The Scientist’ just feels like English hegemonic censoring of non-English cultural identity,” Carlos stated. He was no sociologist, but he was not going to have “The Scientist” be his name forever.

She allowed the gum to deflate. Have you ever seen someone who had a sudden realization of, “Oh shit, I just majorly insulted someone” while blowing a bubble with a stick of Night Vale’s rainbow bubblegum? It’s not a pretty site, sad rainbows and all that.

“Do you have a suggestion, then?” the woman asked. She knew there was precedent for name change. After all before she was mayor, Mayor Pamela Winchell had been just Pamela Winchell. And John Peters, you know, the farmer, had been just John Peters, at one time. And Old Woman Josie had been Josie, something or another, that had happened too long ago for anyone to remember what she had been called before she was old. Most recently, the Indian Tracker had been renamed the Apache Tracker (and I remind you, that’s that white guy who wears the cartoonish headdress of a Native American chief out of some racist cartoon, what an asshole), shortly after Carlos had entered town.

“El Cientifico,” Carlos said, after going over things in his head. He wished he could remember what his name had been before coming to Night Vale, he would have straightened this out by showing his birth certificate, but even that showed his new name. It was too bad he had no family left.

“I will have to get approval before I can make the change, and there will likely need to be a vote from the city council, and maybe the rest of Night Vale. You are, after all, a rather high profile citizen,” she tapped a few buttons on a machine next to her and handed him a number. “Have a seat and we’ll call you.”

He sighed and took the number, before going to sit down. She stood, lifted the ball and chain into her arms like a baby and disappeared into one of the back offices. When Carlos sat down he heard, “Carlos, beautiful and perfect, Carlos~” being crooned from the radio, “has gone to get his license renewed like all good Night Vale citizens are reminded to do.”

Cecil was in good form today. “But there seems to have been a mistake. Have I been falling into the same racists’ views as our departed Apache Tracker by calling Carlos ‘the Scientist’ all this time?” he sounded a little wary. “I know I didn’t mean to, and Carlos never brought it up if it was bothering him. Carlos, if you’re listening, I’m truly sorry if I have offended you in any way.”

Carlos had his cell phone out and was texting Cecil quickly before the apology was finished.

“Oh, listeners, I just received a text from Carlos. It reads: Cecil, you haven’t offended me. I’m a bit upset at who legally changed my name without telling me they were doing so, but not at you. Oh, there’s another, Carlos says, ‘I don’t mind you calling me Carlos the Scientist on your show.’ What a relief, listeners, still, it was insensitive of me to assume. So I will just have to apologize to Carlos more personally. Hopefully, he will get out of the DMV, soon.”

Just then Carlos’ number was called.

Needless to say, it didn’t get sorted out that day, but Carlos had confidence that it would be sorted soon. He was allowed to leave, and went back home, texting Cecil to come by his place when he left the station.


End file.
